and the love kickstarts again

Pripyat Soul · 12-07-2011, 12:22 AM

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Grumpy puss for choo. Weird post. Need sleep.

The soot still coating his palms was comforting. Daily the Eika grew more into himself, fell further into the role he felt he was suppose to play in Ichika, setting fires and putting them out and always coated with smoke and grim. It would have been so easy, after Ayre, to up and leave. Ichika was not Phoenix Valley, the grey man was not bound by family ties to these lands or any lands any longer. There was no hope of Jefferson or Geneva coming home to Ichika, for this was not their home. Yet he had stayed all the same. There was nowhere else to go, and he found, even if there were, he did not wish to go there.

Arye and he had come together, and here he would stay. Nothing of the sea lady remained, having been burnt up as easily as he now burnt branches and logs and whole trees. Only he remained, and that was enough, it had to be enough because that was all there was. Had he not stayed than never would he had lit the fire for Samhain, and then who would? Easily enough Nehalennia or Ansui could have, or Nayru and Razekiel if they had been of the right mind, but he remembered his leaders, drunk and stoned on that night, and he was glad he had stayed.

Arye and he had come together, and here it was he settled. The Abbey walls had quickly enough become where he laid his body at night, and the borders were where he patrol in the days. Ichika's lands were flush with prey and had he not stayed than the turkey he had shot that day never would have been a meal. Yet it was with carefully crafted wood and sinew strung tight from a buck he had felled the animal, his arrow shooting not perfectly straight but straight enough. It was just straight enough, just as he was just enough. And he was glad he had stayed.

Arye and he had come together, and it was here he was among them yet apart. And it was so, among them but apart, when he came upon the lady, a new face but familiar in her scent and coloring. Like Razekiel, and he merely halted yards from the sitting form, surprised and pleased to find one not of the Herald class meditating. In one hand he carried the bow, in the other the turkey, and from the pouch round his waist was the ever present small pouch of fire making tools. Oceanic eyes watched her for some time, before he dropped the dead bird on the ground, louder than any of his footfalls had been, and the man cleared his throat, unwilling to move past without acknowledge that he was among her, if still separate.

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